Its so cold! I wish I were permitted to wear at least a long-sleeved shirt. All I am allowed is a polo shirt, shorts, ankle socks and shoes. My new tutor insists on what he calls "toughening me up" by wearing the absolute minimum in clothing all year round. He also believes in nutritious meals, three times a day, with nothing whatsoever in between, regardless of circumstances.
The tutor, Dr. Benjamin Wallace, was hired by my aunt and uncle when they decided they were no longer in position to take proper care of me. I am ten years old and too noisy, ill-behaved, lazy, dirty, rude, stubborn and obtuse. At least those are the things my aunt and uncle have always told me over and over.
Dr. Wallace has been hired to "straighten me out." For this purpose, he has moved into our house and taken up lodgings in the large spare room on the second floor. I live on the third floor next to the storage area. It is a small, dark room with just a little round window, too high for me to see through. I was given a mattress and a blanket. I have to walk downstairs to go to the bathroom. I used to wear pajamas at night, but since Dr. Wallace moved in, I sleep naked.
Nowadays I hardly see my aunt and uncle, which is okay. Whenever I do meet them in the halls or on the way in or out the front door, they usually complain to the tutor about my terrible manners. These complaints invariably have the most painful consequences for me. So the less I see of them, the better.
Dr. Wallace, on the other hand, I see all to much. I see him as well as hear him and feel him, all day, every day, from six in the morning till nine at night. He rarely lets me out of his sight. He admonishes and corrects me with implacable consistency. As a result, and I am ashamed to admit this, I cry a great deal almost every day. Sometimes out of simple frustration, sometimes due to humiliation or pain.
Yesterday Dr. Wallace took me to a shopping mall after my hour of calisthenics and a small breakfast to meet some friends there. I was introduced to an elderly couple by the name of Henderson. They looked me over from head to foot in silence, shook their heads and then ignored me. I thought I heard the woman grumble "Stupid-looking brat," but couldnt be sure.
I had to walk ahead of the three grown-ups and Dr. Wallace kept stabbing my back with his finger whenever I walked too slowly. "Dont dawdle," he would say. I felt awkward and embarrassed, because I knew the Hendersons could see the cane marks across my upper thighs. I had been punished the night before and the shorts I was made to wear did not even fully cover my bottom. And it was there that Dr. Wallace usually aimed his best strokes.
But I didnt tell you bout the cane, did I? It was introduced into the house at the same time as Dr. Wallace. They belonged to each other and the cane seemed to be an extension of his right hand. It was never very far away and only too frequently very close to my backside.
Of course I hated to wear the shorts I was given on that first day. They are uncomfortably tight, much too short and, without underpants, very revealing even for a boy my age. So I was permanently embarrassed whenever I was with other people. For this reason, being made to parade myself in public in such scanty attire made me all the more self-conscious of my bare legs and I imagined each person I passed to me looking at the bare portion of my bottom.
Now, as I walked in front of my tutor and his friends, my face was glowing with shame. It became even worse when I could hear parts of their conversation.
"Yes, the boy needs regular sessions with the cane..."
"Yes, he always gets it on the bare."
"....tiny shorts?"
"...not let him get even more spoiled...."
"....yes, they all need it..."
"....sound whippings?"
It was several hours before they finally decided to take a break. They had made several purchases and given me their packages to carry.
"Lets just stop for a bit of refreshment," Mr. Henderson said. "I am quite exhausted." They pointed out a little coffee shop on the third floor and took the elevator up.
"You will walk up, boy," Dr. Wallace told me. "Wait for us outside the shop and dont put those packages on the dirty floor."
Those packages werent all that light, either. I walked up the stairs trying to see the steps around the big parcels I held between both hands. I saw the shop and positioned myself by the door. I could see them inside, waiting for a table.
I waited. And waited. I stood shifting my weight, and those of the packages, from one foot to the other. I looked inside. Now they had been assigned a table and apparently waiting for service. The shop was crowded and it took a long time. Maybe an hour later I looked inside again and they were just sitting there, chatting over their coffee and cake. My legs were getting very tired and looking at the cake, was getting me hungry as well.
It must have been another thirty minutes before they finally called the waiter for the bill. Then they waited. At last they rose and Dr. Wallace paid the waiter. They emerged, walking leisurely, engrossed in their conversation. They seemed to have forgotten all about me.
I could hardly stand and almost dropped the packages. Dr. Wallace and the Henderson passed by me down the long passages towards the elevator.
"Dont dawdle, boy," Dr. Wallace snapped. "Take the stairs to the first floor. We still have to do some shopping. And stand still when you are waiting for us. Back straight, shoulders back and dont touch the wall. I dont want you to look like an old beggar."
Walking down the stairs on knees that started to shake, I lost my balance and went down head first, packages flying down the stairs. I skinned a knee and hurt an elbow before I finally arrived at the landing, on top of the most fragile of those parcels. As I gathered myself up and started to collect the Henderson purchases, they just appeared from the elevator and stared at me.
"Boy, what on earth are you doing?" Mrs. Henderson shrieked, her eyes on the squashed box.
"Clumsy child," Mr. Henderson said, shaking his head. "That present is ruined."
Dr. Wallace strode up to where I was cowering, still holding some of the boxes, the others around my feet, and took me by an ear which he proceed to twist and pull most painfully.
"Stupid oaf," he snarled, trying to separate the ear from my head. "You will be punished for that."
"I should hope so," Mrs. Henderson said grumpily. "He should learn to be more careful with other peoples property."
"A sound caning, I should say," Mr. Henderson added helpfully.
"Of course I will pay for that ruined box," Dr. Wallace offered. "And the boy will pay with his bottom."
It didnt sound very encouraging and my bottom twitched inside the thin shorts. It felt very vulnerable now that they were all talking about it. The shopping continued, especially now to replace the broken item (I never learned what it was.) The shorts seam between my buttocks chafed and pinched but, with my hands full of packages, I could not relieve the pressure. I just felt the shorts getting tighter and running higher up my bottom and I felt more and more exposed.
It was close to lunch time by now, almost three hours since we had started, and I was starving. But nothing helped. I just had to trot ahead of them, wait outside while they made their purchases and then continue after they had finished. Mrs. Henderson decided to carry a small, fragile looking parcel herself but the heavier, bigger one were handed to me. Afraid to drop something again, I strained my arms, trying to hold everything steady and was close to exhaustion.
"Oh, look at those bracelets," Mrs. Henderson exclaimed as we passed a jewelry. "Let me just have a quick look around." Even her husband gave a sigh of resignation but made no objections. So I waited. The "quick" look took at least twenty minutes and by then I just had to put those irritating packages on the floor and give my arms a rest. Then I squatted down and leaned against the wall hugging my bare knees. It was good to get that load off my arms and legs.
I was almost asleep when I felt a stinging slap on my thigh that almost sent me sprawling along the floor.
"Get up, you little scamp," Dr. Wallace bellowed so loudly, heads turned in our direction. "Didnt I tell you to stand straight, away from the wall? And what are those boxes doing on the floor?"
"That nice wrapping is getting all soiled," Mrs. Henderson complained in a whining voice. "I shall have to rewrap them again when I get home. What nuisance, this boy. Really, he should be soundly thrashed."
"And that he will be, I assure you," Dr. Wallace agreed all too enthusiastically. "He will get a beating he will not soon forget, I can promise you. Just wait until I get you home."
"Id like to see that," Mr. Henderson laughed. "A naughty little boy getting his just desserts. It must be a diverting performance."
"You are welcome to have lunch with us, after which we can all deal with this ill-behaved child. I am afraid he will have to go without lunch. And perhaps after he has been punished, he may be too sore to sit at the dinner table as well."
"He seems like a strong little boy," Mrs. Henderson said, looking at my shorts and legs. "A day of fasting wont do him any harm. But his backside should be well flogged. Thats what they did with such boys in my time, at school as well as at home. Plenty of birch and cane. No unmarked backsides for boys in those days."
So they went home by automobile while they let me walk. They handed me the heaviest package which must have contained the full set of Encyclopedias by the weight of it, and sent me home. It took me almost 45 minutes and was reprimanded for dawdling when I finally arrived. I handed the package to Mr. Henderson while I felt his wifes fingers pinching me hard on the exposed bottom cheek below the shorts hems.